Safe
by Jehilew
Summary: Can you imagine Rogue and Iceman happily married? Me, either. And Bucky's cute when he smiles, just oh by the way. Gambit gets a 'could have been' sort of mention. Also, what even is canon? Y'all know me.


**An unhappy 'what if' scenario, where Rogue and Iceman had married. I personally think they're an awful pairing, but... _fine_ , Fox, I'll play. I've been interested in the idea of a Rogue/Bucky romance, so I'm playing around with that, too. Not that this is a romance, just a toe-dip into the could-be waters, I guess, but anyway... Also, never thought I'd see the day where I'd have Rogue and Gambit just pass each other by with nothing really happening, but...*shrug*...here we go!**

* * *

I'm pissed.

Well, no, not really pissed anymore. That was a cover I'd blown out in Stark's incredible training facility over the past three hours. Now, after, I'm in the hardly-used room I'd been given back when I'd joined the Avengers, in the small, though luxuriant shower, just hurt and hurtin'.

I tell myself there aren't that many tears, that most of it's the hot water hittin' me full in the face. I've been told on a couple of occasions that I make a rotten liar, and I guess it's true, 'cause hell, not only do I immediately call myself out on that whopper, but I seem to really turn on the water works then. Because it means things with Bobby aren't just bad, they're _bad_.

Bobby Drake. My husband of four measly years, the father of my little girl, and here I stand, in a shower damn near on the other side of the city from both of them, and not plannin' on goin' back tonight. I'd left after another fight with Bobby, after another excuse as to why he can't sit down and eat one goddamned dinner with me, and then fuck me senseless afterward.

Nevermind the fact we ain't done either in over three months now.

I turn off the water, step out, and dry off, doin' my whole after-shower routine in auto-pilot while my mind chases itself with options and plans, none of them makin' me one bit of happy. I suppose this is why some folks adamantly tell others to never get married, it complicates everything, and it's hard.

Lord, I need a drink, else I'll start cryin' again, and I hate cryin'. Whoever said that cryin' makes you feel better was a low-down, dirty, rotten, lying liar who lied, because it always makes me feel worse. What's so great about swollen, red, scratchy eyes, a raw, runny nose, and a splittin' headache, especially when whatever it is you cried over is still starin' you down? I'm bettin' the asshole who let loose with that tall-tale is the same one who called morning sickness morning sickness, actin' like the pregnants can't get sick any other time of day.

Hope that guy's ('cause you know it was a guy) pregnant wife puked in his face the first time he tried tellin' her that over lunch.

I pad out into my room, and stop, lookin' around for a minute, and it hits me- I'd just called this space my room. I never have before. Sure, I've been in it a few times, I mean, I've been callin' myself an Avenger for four months now, and it ain't like I ever waited til after a drive all the way back home for showers, changes of clothes, or hell, sometimes even a quick nap when we got back from fightin' the bad guys. I've got a few things in here for those times, mostly samples of toiletries, and a small laundry basket with a few basic items of clothing neatly folded up in it, but nothing that makes this place mine.

I shake my head, shakin' the thoughts away for a minute, too, still not certain on any of it, and still not ready to think it through, and lean over the clothes basket to fish out underwear, a pair of pajama bottoms, and a tank top. Throwin' all that on, I quickly whip my hair into a braid, grab my flip-flops, and head out for the lounge area. I know there's alcohol there, Stark keeps that shit well-stocked.

I also know that the room's probably empty, considerin' it's nearly eleven, and these folks like to retire to their rooms well before then. So unlike how things were at the X Mansion, but I guess that's the difference between a team full of hard lives and a couple of centurions, and a team mostly consisting of younger, less bothered folks.

I like this particular trade-off.

I hit the liquor cabinet, quickly settlin' on my poison of choice, a bottle of fine whiskey. I don't bother with a glass, just grab the bottle, unscrew the cap, and take a generous swallow while straddlin' up on a stool at the bar.

The sting of the liquor racin' down my throat feels good, and I close my eyes to savor it. I'd never enjoyed it before, the whiskey or the burn, not til after I'd absorbed that idiot Cajun a while back. Gambit's his name, a slippery, cocksure asshole if there ever was one. A good lookin' one, too, charming when it'd suited him, friendly and funny, even, when he'd wanted to be, and a womanizin' jackass completely by nature. Never knew quite where I'd stood with the man for the longest. We weren't really teammates, since his specialty was in espionage and theft, and he tended to work solo, and we weren't really friends, either, definitely a flirtation, and...maybe a promise? But I hadn't figured him for promisin' more than a good time for a night, and being a married woman, I'd had no intentions of indulgin' him.

But dammit if he hadn't tempted me! He'd been the first man to make my eye wander, and wander, it had, all over that handsome, devil-eyed thief's tall, lean, and graceful body every chance I'd gotten. Bobby, when he'd been an X-Man, he'd had a fantastic body, too, but he ain't never had a thing on Remy LeBeau, and by the time Remy LeBeau had entered the picture, me and Bobby were two years married with two years of pilin' up problems, brand new parents, and he'd gone soft, stuck for long hours behind a desk as an accountant.

Now, I'd still found my husband attractive, that ain't what turned me away from him. Nah, it'd been the fact that I never got to see much of him, all those hours he'd put in. We'd gone from waking up for morning sex to quick pecks on the cheek as he'd ran out the door, earlier and earlier, and we'd gone from once a week date nights to barely makin' any time together at all. Then the sex had dwindled down to hurried, quiet quickies once a week, then once every couple of weeks, and then less and less frequently. He'd come home late, tired and crabby, and then Charlotte was up all hours of the night, and since I was nursin' her, I was the one to get up with her all the time. It was all me, on parent duty, which had made sense, I guess, considerin' I was a stay at home mom, on a year long leave from super-heroing, while he was bustin' his ass with all them long hours.

I was resentful as hell over every bit of it, and Remy... Well. That man's pure sex on legs, and I was practically fanning myself every time I laid eyes on him. Didn't help knowin' all I had to do was either make a move, or match one of his, and I could've no doubt had the best sex of my life then and there.

But all he'd been for me was a fantasy, an escape. I'd never particularly liked him or trusted him, and he'd been a well-seasoned bachelor, a man well into his forties and perfectly happy to drink, gamble, and screw his way through everywhere he went, he wasn't changin' his stripes.

None of that stopped me in a tiny moment of weakness, though. I'd been stung by Bobby's latest rejection, and much like I had earlier in Stark's facility, I'd taken it out in the Danger Room. Gambit had been the one on turn to man the controls, and it'd been after the session, when I'd gone up there with him to read my diagnostics, that it'd all gone sideways. Being an empath, he'd known I was upset and had tried to flirt me out of it. I'd only snapped at him, kept right on snappin' at him til he'd finally snapped back, and I'd completely lost my cool. Next thing I'd known, he'd snatched me up, his mouth tearin' into mine, and I'd thrown my legs up around his waist, snaked my hands in his hair, and _damn_ , had it been a helluva kiss! He'd tasted hot and absolutely delicious, his body was strong, those arms easily liftin' me up into his chest, and his erection was pushed up hard against me...

I'd panicked, then flooded with guilt and anger, and yanked hard with my power. He'd crumpled out cold to the floor in two seconds flat, his chest spasming as he'd struggled to breathe, dark marks streaking out from his purpled lips, out over his face and down his neck, clear past his shoulders. I'd stayed there with him til his breathin' had evened out, and then a little longer, til the ugly purple had faded off his skin, before I called for help to get him down to the med-bay. I hadn't wanted anyone figurin' out I'd kissed him.

Might've cried a bit while waitin' there with him, too, 'cause I'd found out the stupid-ass had gone and fallen in love with me.

Wouldn't have stopped him from breakin' my heart over and over again, I'd been able to see that. Still, though, it'd made me feel like a right proper asshole, flirting with him like I had, yankin' him around like I'd done. To make matters worse, though I'd never said a thing about it to him, he'd known I was utterly miserable with Bobby. He'd half-hoped I'd leave him, was half-terrified that I would, because then what?

After that, I'd avoided Remy as best I could, and he, knowin' I knew, he'd done the same, keepin' himself pretty scarce around the mansion. I'd suggested to Bobby that we move out, get a place of our own, maybe closer to his job. Any bit of distance I could get from the dangerous New Orleanian was what I'd wanted, and was exactly what I'd gotten.

I take another swig off that bottle, closin' my eyes against the burn again. I'd thought that by eliminating the temptation, I'd be able to start fresh with Bobby. I'd never told him of the incident, too chickenshit for that, but once we'd moved into our place, I'd busted it to try with Bobby again. I'd still loved him, after all, and I'd had zero intentions of leavin' him. Things had started to look up, Bobby had changed jobs, a better one for a little less pay, but the hours were better, he wasn't workin' all them long hours. A while later, I'd been approached by Rogers to play with the Avengers, and I'd jumped at the chance. We'd lucked across an amazing childcare situation for Charlotte, and it was just... I'd been smiling, thinkin' we'd finally pull out of our stupid rut!

But it hadn't panned out. Bobby had always had reasons, and he'd never listened, and it hadn't been long before I'd started daydreamin' elsewhere again. Joseph (don't get me started on that mindfuck). Johnny. Alex Summers. And few others besides, little crushes I'd flirted and flitted in and out of. I'd let myself go with it, because all of those men'd had this or that reason why a chance at becoming a real threat to me and Bobby was small.

Unlike Remy, they'd been _safe_.

Heh, safe. And yet, they'd still been problems in my failing marriage. And that problem, my marriage, had finally come to a head tonight.

It was a mistake, marrying Bobby. A huge mistake, and now, I'm stuck. I mean, I've built a life with Bobby, I've got a beautiful and absolutely amazing little girl with him, this isn't just a break up, I can't just take her and leave, hell, I could lose her altogether if Bobby chose to be difficult about it, after all, I'm not the one with a steady, stable, and safe occupation...

But I can't do this mess anymore, either.

My lord, if I could go back four years, to the _damn day_ , I'd scream at my younger self to say 'no' and break it off then and there.

Yeps, that's right, four years ago, today, Bobby had proposed, and me, being so damn young, stupid, and swept up with idea of ridin' off into the sunset as Mrs. Drake, I'd suggested we elope. Bobby had thought it a great idea, and a trip to the courthouse later, we were married and back to being boring as hell Bobby and Anna at the mansion.

Boring Mr. and Mrs. Drake, heh. Yeah, we'd always been boring. We'd met before I could touch, and quickly became friends. Maybe the combination of those two things had set the tone of our relationship, because all we'd ever been was comfortable, there hadn't been anything wild and crazy, and he'd never made my heart go pitter-patter. I'd found him attractive, I'd liked him, grown to love him, and Bobby, he'd been so patient with me and the lack of touch, and he'd waited.

Well, there had been that little blip with Kitty, but that'd been emotional moment on both their parts, and all he'd done was kiss her. He'd immediately told me about it, they'd both apologized profusely, I'd eventually forgiven them, and he'd never strayed again.

Which makes me feel even worse about that whole incident with Remy.

Another drink of that whiskey, and I'm startin' to feel a little numb. I've always been a light-weight. I suppose it has it perks, means I'll solve-not-solve all my problems a little quicker tonight. And by that, I mean, I won't stew too long in any of it tonight, I'll soon be headed back up to my- that -room to flop out on the bed and pass out til mornin'. All problems seem smaller when they're a morning away, right?

I hear the door to the lounge open, and lookin' up, I sort of groan inwardly and snatch up the bottle for another drink. Sergeant James Barnes, a.k.a. Winter Soldier, a.k.a. former HYDRA brainwashing experiment and badass assassin, and an absolute land-mine of triggers.

I mean, given my current mood, I don't really want company, but this definitely ain't the guy to hang out with if you're already down and out.

Not that I'm ever really around him or talked to him much, he's usually real quiet and aloof with folks he doesn't know. Which, given that he's 1940's vintage and fresh out of a seventy-year brain-freeze, that's pretty much everybody ninety and under.

He sees me and stops, going statue-still for a moment, blue eyes gone a little wary. "Rogue," he greets me, somewhat stiffly, his voice a little gravelly, hoarse. Goin' off his hair stickin' up on its end, the pajama pants, and wife-beater, I'd say he just woke up.

Nightmares again, I bet. Heard tell the poor guy still wakes up screamin' bloody murder at night on the regular.

"Sarg," I acknowledge him with a flick of my eyes and a tilt of my chin before staring at the bottle in front of me again.

He moves past me, on into the kitchen, way too damn quietly for a man his size, and reaches in a cabinet for two glasses. "Mind if I join you?"

I shrug irritably. "Looks like you're goin' to, whether I do or don't."

He stops short again. "No, I can leave."

I look up, meet those guarded eyes. I almost tell him to get lost. It's on the tip of my tongue. I bite it back with a shrug and a gesture to the open stools. "Nah, 's alright, sugar. Don't mind me, I'm just in a rotten mood."

I mean, I've been the isolated one before, the one everyone was scared of, and it blows. I ain't got it in me to do that to him, of all people.

Well, that, and it's startin' to look like maybe I've got a soft spot for handsome, tortured men with checkered pasts.

He grabs the bottle out form in front of me, and pours us both a drink. "So, it's fights and rotten moods that bring you out here?"

Heh, _fights_. Just not the kind he's referrin' to just now. "Yeah," I give him a small, cryptic smile, "you could say that." I run a finger around the rim of my glass, the platinum-set diamond sittin' on it winking in the light. I fidget the ring around my finger for a moment, then snatch up my drink. "After this fight, y'all gonna see a whole lot more of me 'round these parts," I mutter low and practically into my glass, forgetting the man sittin' close by has super-hearing.

His brows shoot up at that, but he doesn't say anything.

I feel my cheeks heat up a bit. Embarrassing, is what this is. He's from a different time, a time when women probably didn't leave their husbands too often, and they definitely didn't talk about it. "Me, and my loud mouth," I drawl out, "and you, and your damn ears."

He stiffens up, but has the good grace to appear apologetic, turnin' on a sheepish little grin that makes him look almost boyish. "Sorry, ma'am. I don't hear everything on purpose." Then he shrugs and goes back to his drink, adding, "and don't mind me, I'm just an old-timer who's behind the times."

Yep, he'd picked up what I'd accidentally thrown down. _Awk_ -ward...

"Nah, Sarg," I answer in a teasing tone, looking to deflect a little, "you ain't doin' too bad keepin' up for being, what, like, two or three hundred years old?" He snorts, a smile twitchin' at his lips. "Now, your pal, Captain, on the other hand..." and that cracks a smile on his mouth and gives me those bright blue eyes for a moment. He's cute when he smiles, the way his eyes crinkle up in the corners...

I look away. Sure, Anna Marie Drake, _sure_ , just look at yourself, you're doin' it again. Yeah, you've finally admitted what you knew had been a long-time comin', that you're leaving Bobby, but now, seriously, girl? You're already thinkin' about how good-lookin' someone is? Like I want to be makin' eyes at anyone right now, or anytime between right now and a real long while. And lord have mercy on me, not at a mess like this guy, even if he is hot as hell-

"Bucky," he suddenly pipes up, and I blink over at him, a bit startled out my thoughts, "call me Bucky." He glances over and shrugs, "or James. I answer to either." Then he flashes me a real smile, "just quit calling me 'sarg'."

Well, shit. That smile. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter...

I pause for a moment. He ain't hittin' on me or anything, I've seen that man in action around Romanoff, he was definitely a ladies' man back in the day, but still...

Ah, what the hell, girl, unclench a little. He's just being friendly for once, and it's a solid good idea to be friends with the folks out there battlin' the baddies with you. And anyway, he's bangin' Natasha, so he's _safe_...

"Alright, Bucky. Guess that means you can call me Rogue." I smirk at his unimpressed expression, "or Anna. I answer to either."


End file.
